The Woman
by peppertheband
Summary: <html><head></head>It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. Series of one-shots, Holmes-centric, thoughts on The Woman. /Written by ALadInSane/ ON HIATUS</html>
1. Love and Lust

**Disclaimer: Don't own. **_**Sherlock Holmes, **_**2009, is © Guy Ritchie and is based on the series by Conan Doyle. ****The story was written by ALadInSane (link on my bio).**

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><p><em>It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler.<em>

: :

Love and lust are dissimilar emotions, even if they appear alike to the casual observer. And while he may obsess about her and desire her, he has not and on no account will ever feel anything of those softer passions.

Holmes does not delude himself; in truth, he never has had a tender thought of The Woman. Distrust and desire are the only sentiments he has ever felt concerning her, perhaps with some stomach-wrenching jealousy or the awful impression of defeat thrown in.

And he knows that Watson, as charming and kind as he is, cannot understand this simple fact. The doctor would prefer to believe that they were two tragic lovers, bound to be separated by birth and profession until they both pass into the next life, than reconcile himself to the bitter truth. Dear Watson, who refuses to acknowledge the reality; that Holmes and The Woman have never felt anything more or less than respect, albeit grudgingly earned, for the other.

Though most people upon hearing this would be dismayed and pitying, Holmes does not mind. His acute and highly sensitive mind knew this from the start, from the first day he saw _her_, she who was thought to be the most lovely and most dangerous woman on Earth. And by far the most alluring . . .

And perhaps she was. But Holmes had something better than a woman's touch. As long as his bottle stayed full and his syringe was kept ready, he had all that was needed between the hazard and triumph of a case. At least, that is what he informed himself, in drunken hazes when it seemed that all Holmes wanted was her. It appeared to be true, until that one fateful sighting in the boxing ring.

Maybe it was meant to be, he tells himself now. Maybe this is not a bad thing, after all . . .

With The Woman, you never know what could happen.

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><p><strong>Once again, this is written by a friend of mine, ALadInSane, not me. Go to my bio to find a link to her page.<strong>

**Over & Out,**

**Pepper**


	2. An Enticing Wager

**Disclaimer: Don't own. **_**Sherlock Holmes, **_**2009, is © Guy Ritchie and is based on the series by Conan Doyle. ****The story was written by ALadInSane (link on my bio).**

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><p><em>It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler.<em>

: :

Find someone for her, indeed. It was clear why Ire—Miss Ad—_The Woman_ was there.

She was baiting him. The Woman _knew_ that Holmes could never resist the lure of a mystery, especially when the prize was something as enticing as her.

Which was exactly the reason why Watson found him preparing to jump from a window two minutes and seven seconds later.

It was logical, he argued with himself. The Woman must be planning against him. Therefore, he must prepare in advance for whatever devilish design she might execute. In turn, this required him to learn more about who she was working for and why.

It was not because he felt any particular sentiment for her.

Of course not. To think so was childish, absurdly romantic, and indescribably obtuse.

The only reason Holmes would even bother with The Woman's despicableness is if she was somehow involved in a case of his. The problem of Grand Duke Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismund von Ornstein was an excellent example of this fact—Holmes had heard of The Woman, and had been tracking her progress with no little interest, but it was not until she came his way in a job that Holmes took any action.

So why was he about to dive out a second-story window after her?

Holmes mused over this for all of four seconds before an answer presented itself to him.

He wanted to prove that he could beat her at her own game, that the other two times she triumphed over him were simply flukes.

And with this justification in mind, Holmes leapt.

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><p><strong>Once again, this is written by a friend of mine, ALadInSane, not me. Go to my bio to find a link to her page.<strong>

**Over & Out,**

**Pepper**


	3. Mutual Danger

**Disclaimer: Don't own. **_**Sherlock Holmes, **_**2009, is © Guy Ritchie and is based on the series by Conan Doyle. ****The story was written by ALadInSane (link on my bio).**

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><p><em>It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler.<em>

: :

Holmes opened his eyes, head pounding.

Rough gold brocade against his bare skin, metal cuffs cinched tight around his wrists, the familiar scent of Parisian musk; it all led to one obvious conclusion.

The Woman.

He remembered that abysmal moment as _she_ watched him with a faint smirk, her wineglass still full in her hand. He could still feel the shock, almost instantly followed by dizziness and blurred vision. And all the while, The Woman just stood there, watching, as Holmes was struggling to stand, struggling to force her to see reason.

Undressing him before binding him to the bed they had shared, years ago . . . that was the telltale touch, the signature, if you will, the pure deviousness that could only be the indication of Irene's presence.

Holmes winced. Irene? No, it was only Irene to her face; Adler in business; and _The Woman_ privately. To think of her by her Christian name—well, it was though he had romantic feelings towards that female!

Which was an absolutely ridiculous notion.

Holmes shifted experimentally, causing the cuffs to bite into the flesh of his wrists and the pillow which was balanced atop him to wobble slightly. Ah, maybe it would be more practical to obtain assistance. Watson was the evident choice in this, excepting the fact that the good Doctor was most likely at 221b this very moment, packing his bags with no idea of the situation Holmes had gotten himself into.

An inexplicable twinge went through Holmes' chest. Telling himself it was just a lasting effect of the knock-out drug, Holmes shoved that thought out of his mind and considered his options. As it was most unlikely that Watson would be at the scene in time to provide help, he would just have to wait and hope that a chambermaid came in before Ire-_The Woman_ got back from whatever errand she was running.

The (defeated) amateur detective sighed, steeling himself for the unavoidable ribbing that would occur as soon as Inspector Lestrade got wind of this. As though that fool should be anything but grateful to him, the same Sherlock Holmes who had helped Lestrade on hundreds of cases, which, if left to the Yard, would have been unsolv—

_Thu-thud. Thu-thud. Thu-thud. _The sound of footsteps resonated down the hall and into the room where Holmes was being kept prisoner.

_Must be female—no man would walk so lightly, and in such a timid, meek manner. The uneven footsteps are a sign of a slight limp, probably acquired from working while standing or walking for long periods of time. Most likely a maid, cleaning rooms before their occupants returned._

Holmes bowed his head and prepared himself to face the unsuspecting girl.

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><p><strong>Once again, this is written by a friend of mine, ALadInSane, not me. Go to my bio to find a link to her page.<strong>

**Over & Out,**

**Pepper**


End file.
